A Northern Light(62)

"But he could have stopped it," Cook said, wiping blood from Weaver's nose. "Could have stepped aside and let the trash blow down the sidewalk, but no, he has to run his mouth."

"What happened?" Mr. Sperry asked.

John Denio answered. All three of us—Cook, Mr. Denio, and myself—knew better than to let Weaver do the talking.

"He was attacked," John said. "In front of the station. The train was late. I went to talk to the stationmaster and left Weaver in the wagon. Three men came out of the Summit Hotel. Trappers. They were drunk. They said some things. Weaver answered back. One of them hauled him out of the seat and all three of them beat him. I heard the noise, ran out, and broke it up."

"Three to one, Weaver? For Gods sake, why didn't you just keep quiet?"

"They called me nigger."

Mr. Sperry took Weaver's chin in his hand and grimaced at the damage. A cut eye that was already blackening. A nose that might well be broken. A lip as fat and shiny as a garden slug. "It's just a word, son. I've been called worse," he said.

"Beg your pardon, Mr. Sperry, but you haven't," Weaver said. "I'm going to the justice of the peace tomorrow," he added. "I'm telling him what happened. I'm pressing charges."

Mr. Sperry sighed. "You're just bent on kicking skunks, aren't you? From tomorrow on, you're to stay in the kitchen. You can wash dishes and mop floors and do whatever else Cook can find for you until your face heals."

"But why, Mr. Sperry?" Weaver asked, upset. He wouldn't earn tips working in the kitchen.

"Because you look like you fell into a meat grinder! I can't have you serving guests with a face like that."

"But it's not right, sir. I shouldn't be called names. Shouldn't catch a beating. Shouldn't have to stay in the kitchen, either."

"How old are you, Weaver? Seventeen or seven? Don't you know that what should be and what is are two different things? You should be dead. Luckily, you aren't. You think on that the next time you decide to take on three grown men." He stormed back out. Cook went after him to ask about a delivery, John returned to his horses, and the two of us were left alone.

Limicolous, my word of the day, means something that lives in the mud. I thought it was a very good word to describe the men who beat Weaver, and told him so. Weaver had other words to describe them, though, and it was a good thing Cook didn't hear them.

"Hush, Weaver, just let it go," I said, wrapping up a chunk of ice in a towel. "A few days in the kitchen won't kill you. It's better than losing your job. Here, hold this against your lip."

"Don't have much of a choice, do I?" he grumbled. He pressed the ice to his lip, winced, then said, "Three more months, Matt. Just three more months and I'm gone from here. Once I get through Columbia, once I'm a lawyer, ain't no one ever going to hand me a suitcase. Or call me boy or nigger or Sam. Or hit me. And if they do, I'll make sure they go to jail."

"I know you will," I said.

"I'll find myself a new place. A better place than this one, that's for sure. We both will, won't we, Matt?" he said, his eyes searching mine.

"Yes, we will," I said, busying myself with the witch hazel, for I could not meet his gaze.

I'd already found myself a new place, one I'd never intended to find, but I was in it now all the same. It was a place for myself alone and one I couldn't tell Weaver about, no more than I could tell Miss Wilcox. It was in Royal Loomis's arms, this place, and I liked it there. Weaver would never understand that. Sometimes I barely did myself.





I hear a loon calling from the lake. The tourists all say its a beautiful sound. I think its the loneliest sound I know. I am still reading. Still looking for a different answer. Another outcome. A happier ending. But I already know I'm not going to find it.





South Otselic

June 28, '06

My Dear Chester,



...I think I shall die of joy when I see you, dear. I will tell you lam going to try and do a whole lot better, dear, I will try not to worry so much and I won't believe horrid things the girls write. I presume they do stretch things, dear. I am about crazy or I could reason better than I do. I am awfully pleased you had such a jolly time at the Lake, dear, and I wish I had been there, too. lam very fond of water, although I can't swim. I am crying and can't half write. Guess its because my sister is playing her mandolin and singing "Loves Young Dream. "lama little blue...





It is a long letter and there are many more lines to read, but my eyes keep straying back to one line: I am very fond of water, although I can't swim. A chill grips me. I throw it off and keep reading.





...Chester, my silk dress is the prettiest dress I ever had, or at least that is what everyone says. Mamma don't think I have taken much interest in it. I am frightened every time it is fitted. Mamma says she don't see why I should cry every time they look at me ... Chester dear, I hope you will have an awfully nice time the 4th. Really, dear, I don't care where you go or who you go with if you only come for the 7th. You are so fond of boating and the water why don't you go on a trip that will take you to some lake?...